


Finding the one

by MelMey



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-16 18:26:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 21,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3498383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelMey/pseuds/MelMey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock knew he was different. His broken soulmark set him apart. But finding the soulmate that could change things for the better was not easy in a world where social norms and prejudice ruled. </p><p>AU with soulmates along the seasons of Sherlock with slight changes. Sorry, summary is not good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everybody,  
> another fan fiction for Sherlock, set in a soulmate AU.  
> English isn't my mother tongue, so if you see any mistakes, please tell me. Other feedback is of course also very much appreciated.  
> I have nearly the whole story finished and will post regularly.  
> Disclaimer: The usual. I don't own Sherlock, I just like it and borrowed those characters and twisted the original stories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting with a look back and a few explanations for this soulmate AU. More will follow throughout the stories.

He was a broken soul, no doubt about that. He knew it right from the beginning and he didn’t believe his parents or Mycroft when they tried to tell him otherwise. Well, they stopped eventually as there was a point when even they couldn’t deny it. Most people had a whole band around there wrist. It started to form when you were three, the outer lines, the basic patterns were fully developed by the age of six and it then it began to colour. By the time when you became fourteen or fifteen years old your soulmark was fully developed and a name appeared underneath the colours but it was only visible for two persons – the person whose mark it was and the soulmate whose name it was. The colours of and patterns of most soulmates were always absolute identical. But then there were those few whose marks didn’t make the full circle. The soulmates with broken marks were no equals, you where either the healer when your mark had lighter colours and missed only little bits, sometimes only really visible when one took a very close look. Or you were the broken one that needed healing and had a mark with large parts missing and mostly dark colours. Sherlock knew right from the beginning, even when the mark was not fully developed and not coloured yet that he was the broken one. He was already too aware of the fact that he was different back then, different in a bad way. 

Sherlock hated it. He hated his mark. He hated the meaning behind it, he hated that he would always be seen as weak and broken by everyone who would see it. He always covered his mark, even when he was alone at home he wore a silver band around his wrist that his parents gave him. He himself didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to be reminded of the meaning behind that stupid mark and of his unchangeable status. Covering your soul mark was in itself a bit suspicious as most people didn’t cover theirs. They kept them open on display as they want people to see them, hoping a potential soulmate would recognize the colours and patterns. People whose soulmate had died either before they have met them covered their mark. And of course people with broken marks covered their marks as well as they were seen as not normal, as defective, as impaired. And then there were those few who didn’t want their lives to be determined by the mark, but it was regarded as odd and inappropriate to deny the power of soulmates. Nevertheless Sherlock always tried to convince people that he was one of the latter ones or one whose soulmate had died. Everything was better than people discovering that he had a broken mark. It had worked quite well throughout his adulthood. But with a shudder he remembered his school days. Even back then Sherlock wore a broad silver band around his wrist. When people asked he just glared at them or turned around. So most people assumed his soulmate was dead, until one day he got in the way of the school’s biggest bullies and they ripped the band apart. The other pupils at school thought him to be strange before, but from that moment on they hated him, called him freak or cripple.

But it was not only at school that he was the outcast. His grandfather always made him show him his mark when it started to develop. And as he saw that the mark was broken he said that that was a proof for everything that was wrong with him. So even his own grandfather called him a freak and used every opportunity to teach him a lesson, to show him that he was worthless. His parents tried to comfort Sherlock, at least sometimes, but he knew that they had similar thoughts after he once overheard a conversation between them. So, yes, he was the broken one, deficient and marred. At a certain point, even before the final colours and the name of his soulmate appeared on his wrist he made the decision not to let this dictate his life. He would survive as long as possible. He would not care about what people called him. He would not search for this “Gregory” to heal him. Broken soulmate marks were very rare and the chance to meet him were slim. From the few men named “Gregory” that he had met in his life, he could always tell immediately that they were not his soulmate. There was only one who was different. One.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock meets Greg.

After he had finished university Sherlock really didn’t know what to do with his life. If he wasn’t able to find his soulmate he would die young anyway. Broken souls didn’t get old when they weren’t able to bond with their soulmates. So Sherlock saw no sense in pursuing any career like his brother did. And who would hire a broken one anyway. In the past there have been discriminating registration laws and laws that segregated the broken one form certain jobs and rights. Those laws had been abandoned for nearly a hundred years. Today there were even laws against discrimination, but it happened anyway. Prejudice was still strong. So trying to pursue any kind of career just to be rejected once more seemed to be useless. It was more or less by accidents that he discovered drugs, how appropriate, a broken one with a drug addiction. Of course his family wasn’t happy, but it wasn’t his family that made him reconsider.

Sherlock was on his way to one of his preferred dealers when in a dark alley he had an encounter with three thugs. He pondered for a moment to turn around and run into the other direction when he deduced that those three wanted to blow of some steam and that they would surly see him as a good opportunity to do so. But if he would run now they would follow and the way back to the main road was too long, they would catch him anyway. So Sherlock calculated that his best chance was to run into the other direction towards the other bigger road. He just needed to act fast shortly before they would reach him. It was a good plan, but it didn’t work out. The alley was too narrow, one of them tripped him up and he wasn’t fast enough to get up again.

So he ended up being beaten up in a dark alley and he was close to black out when he heard someone screaming from the corner and he saw that man running up to him. The man yelled something about being from the police. That made the thugs run away, but one of them felt the need for one last kick which finally turned Sherlock’s world into darkness.

 

Sherlock woke up in the hospital with a severe concussion, several broken ribs and a striking collection of bruises all over his body. When he woke up he was still in the A&E, his bed separated from others just by some light blue curtains. On a chair beside his bed sat a man with graying hair.

“Awake?” He asked with his Estuary accent.

“Obvious.” Sherlock groaned as he tried to sit up.

“Good. I will leave you to rest very soon. I just need to get answers for some questions.” The man said.

“You are the policeman from the alley.” Sherlock said and he took a closer look at the man. He deduced a number of things, but there was one thing that kept him from spitting them out like he usually would do it and that usually appalled people. The man had his soulmark on his left wrist and it was covered by a broad leather band, just like Sherlock did it with a broad close-meshed band made of silver. He couldn’t help it, but like always when he met somebody with a covered soulmark he felt a pinch of hope spreading through his chest.

“Yes, I am DI Lestrade. The three guys who attacked you are known to the police. We caught them, by the way. Now I don’t need your statement right now, but I need your name and some contact details. Is there anybody we should contact?”

Sherlock hesitated a moment to give his name, but in the end he knew he had to.

“Sherlock Holmes.” He said and watched the other man for any visible reaction, but there was none. He hated himself for hoping again, for thinking this man might be his soulmate. “You don’t need to call anyone. My brother will already know.” He said barley able to hide the hint of sadness and disappointment in his voice

The DI gave him a confused look, but only seconds later Mycroft showed up. After the DI left Mycroft lectured him about his reckless lifestyle, but thankfully he also arranged a private room for him.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gregs needs to see Sherlock again.

He couldn’t quite understand why he felt the need to visit that young man again. And somehow it was an urgent need. He needed to know that the boy was okay. Of course he had noticed the covered mark on the other man’s wrist. Actually it was one of the first things he noticed back in the alley when the boy was unconscious and he was searching for a pulse. Maybe if it wasn’t for that silver band around his wrist he would have dismissed the boy as just another drug addict who was in the wrong alley at the wrong time. And considering the part of town Greg was quite sure that the boy was an addict on the way to one of the dealers around there. His assumption was confirmed by the medical records he asked to see. An addict and judging by the rather scruffy looks one who was sleeping rough.

He tried to remain professional. It wasn’t his division, but he couldn’t ignore the covered wrist. When he had asked him for his name he had noticed the boy’s reluctance. Greg was quite sure that he had noticed that he covered his wrist as well. And he had seen the disappointment. Well, he was disappointed as well. When he was young and discovered the meaning of the small missing parts in his soulmark he found the idea of being able to heal another person just because of that rather ridiculous. Later on in his life he desperately wanted it to happen. It wasn’t like people treated him bad when they saw his mark, but it was always accompanied by the questions. People asked if he already has met his soulmate and how he healed him or her. And the older he got the stranger the reaction to his answer became. When he turned thirty he started to cover his mark, which also let to strange comments and behavior but he couldn’t care less. Nevertheless he wished he would find his soulmate. So yesterday in the A&E he hoped for the name “William” when he asked the boy for his name. But it wasn’t and yet here he was visiting Sherlock Holmes, because he felt the strange urge to do so.

 

When Greg entered the hospital and asked for the room of “Sherlock Holmes” he was quite surprised to find him in one of the private rooms. How could somebody like that pay for this kind of room? Well, he sounded quite posh and his brother looked quite posh. When he stepped into the room he found the young man sleeping peacefully. The nurse had told him that he would probably need to stay for a few nights. Carefully not to startle him Greg approached the bed, but his steps were already loud enough to wake him up.

“Hello.” Greg said, waiting for the man to wake up completely.

“Oh, Hello.” Sherlock said and Greg was amazed by the piercing glaze he received. “I guess you want your statement.”

“Well, among other things, yes.”

“Among other things?” Sherlock asked curiously.

“Well, first of all I wanted to see if you are okay.” Greg said and he had no idea why he shared that thought with this stranger. It seemed rather unprofessional to do so and so he hastily asked for the statement. As that was quickly done, Greg found himself in a vivid talk with the young man. They talked for a while about his job of the DI. The boy was curious, but also knew a lot already. Sherlock impressed him with deductions about a case that he had only read about in the news. Greg didn’t really notice how the time pass by and when he left he felt lighthearted. He had offered the young man to show him some cold cases – under the condition that got clean and stayed clean. Later in the evening standing on the balcony of his flat, smoking, he couldn’t help but smile. He shook his head as he couldn’t explain why he did all that, but it felt good.

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock discovers something about Greg.

 

 

Sherlock didn’t expect another visit by the DI, much less that he just wanted to see, if he was okay. This DI cared about him. That was strange. Nobody besides some members of his family ever cared about him, and he always had the feeling they cared out of a sense of obligation rather than because they were genuine concerned about his wellbeing. But this man cared. It was a puzzle and Sherlock loved puzzles. And when they started to talk the DI surprised Sherlock even more when he listened to his deductions and promised to act on them. People usually hated his deduction and didn’t believe them.

Thus began the first real love of Sherlock’s life – his work. Well, first he had to get clean, the DI made that quite clear when he offered to let Sherlock have a look at some cold cases. And he had to stay clean, which wasn’t easy, but he made it, admittedly with the help of Mycroft and a rather posh and extremely boring rehab centre. But after that Lestrade asked him for help every now and then and he also encouraged him to start a website to gain some private clients. The older man wasn’t his soulmate but he cared and he gave Sherlock a purpose.

It was months after Sherlock started to consult Lestrade that he found out the DI’s first name. Lestrade was extremely annoying that day and so Sherlock stole his warrant card. It should have been just a joke. He really liked Lestrade and he had the impression that Lestrade like him as well. He offered him crime cases against the boredom. Sometimes he even brought him take-away and urged him to sleep. He cared so much for Sherlock’s wellbeing that it was really a little bit creepy. But the man was undeniable the best that had ever happened to him. He even resisted Mycroft’s attempts to bribe him to spy on Sherlock. So stealing the warrant card was supposed to be just a joke. When Sherlock took a look at the warrant card he felt how his heart skipped a beat. “Gregory.” He slumped down on the sofa, starring at the name.

Sherlock stayed for hours in his mind palace to think about this new information. Lestrade cared for him, but he hasn’t reacted on his name. He covered up his mark all the time, but Sherlock still hasn’t found out the reason for that. He was strangely attached to Sherlock, but he hadn’t made any move to ask Sherlock about his mark, even though Sherlock was sure that the DI had noticed the silver band that covered his wrist.

At the end Sherlock had this itchy feeling that Lestrade might be the one. He got up from the sofa and grabbed his violin. As a played through several pieces he came to a conclusion. He would never dare to be the one to make the first step. First of all, the social rules were quite clear. The healer needed to make the first move; it was not the right of the broken one to approach the healer even if you were sure that it was your soulmate. And even if Sherlock didn’t care much for other social rules breaking this one could end in a disaster. If Greg was his soulmate and cared for the rules he could reject Sherlock’s approach and could even reject the bond. And even if he didn’t care for the rules, if Sherlock would be wrong with his assumption that could destroy the life he by now had build up for himself. Who would ask a broken one to consult on a crime scene? Prejudices were still strong. And even if that would be still the case Lestrade surly would see Sherlock differently, probably with pity and disgust.

Years past by. Sherlock tried to gather more data, but there was no way to confirm his assumption. In all those years he had absolutely no opportunity to see Lestrade’s mark. And even though he still cared for Sherlock, he had never approached him to ask the one question. Sherlock came to the conclusion that either Lestrade hadn’t a broken mark, or that this Gregory wasn’t his Gregory or that Lestrade just didn’t want to bond with him. It didn’t really matter which conclusion was the right one, Sherlock couldn’t change the outcome. Sherlock knew that the probability was in favor of the first two explanations, but somewhere deep down he thought that Greg didn’t want to bond with him. He felt rejected once more, rejected by the one person who should accept him, even love him. A quite kind of desperation made a way into his heart and it would have surely ripped him apart over time, but then John entered Sherlock’s life. Things changed. Now it was John who cared for Sherlock, accepted him and his way of living, he even tried to keep him fed and make him sleep enough. With that Lestrade seemed to feel less obliged to take care of Sherlock and it made Sherlock sad, but it also eased the pain. Maybe he wasn’t his soulmate after all.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John wants to know.

From the first moment Sherlock met John he knew that the man couldn’t be his soulmate. John wore his blue and red coloured mark clearly visible for everybody to see. But he cared for Sherlock nevertheless. It was a little bit confusing, Sherlock mused while he and John sat in front of the fireplace. They had just successfully finished a case.

“May I ask you a question?” John asked, his voice soft and cautious.

Sherlock knew immediately what that question would be about. He remembered the little conversation they had at Angelo’s that first evening. It was considered rude to ask someone with a covered mark about the reasons for covering it, but John’s questions about girlfriends and boyfriends were clearly a way to approach that subject through the back door.

“You can always ask questions, but I may decide not to answer them.” Sherlock replied, trying to keep a calm voice.

“Oh, of course, you don’t have to answer, but … will you tell me about your mark and why you cover it?” John asked looking at Sherlock expectantly.

Sherlock drew a deep breath. He knew that this would happen. In his mind he had gone through every possible scenario a dozen times and the bad reactions always were in majority. So now, just for a moment, Sherlock thought about telling John the truth. The man had become a friend even if they only knew each other for a couple of month. John had killed the cabbie to save him. But in the end the fear of rejection was too big. Not that he had ever heard John saying a bad word about people with broken marks, but the rejection was still part of society and most people still regarded a broken mark as a stigma. They thought of broken ones as being weak and useless, while healers were accepted, even admired. Sherlock had experienced too much of that kind of behavior in the past, so he made up his mind fast.

“No.” Sherlock said while staring into the fire. “It is a topic I’d rather not talk about and I hope you can respect that.” He didn’t dare to look at John.

John nodded. “Okay. I don’t need to know, but you should know that if you ever want to talk about it I will be here and listening. Okay?”

Sherlock just nodded and whispered “Thank you.”

They sat in silence for the remainder of the evening. And in the following months the topic never came up again, not even after the meeting with Moriarty at the pool when the criminal had teased John about being so loyal to Sherlock without being his soulmate. They never talk about that.

So life went on. They solved cases, both private and those for Lestrade. Sherlock was still confused, by the caring loyalty of John and the still caring but less obvious behavior of Greg. He tried not to think about it too much. He knew his time was running out, but he enjoyed his current life too much to take the risk to change something. His life was good, better than it has ever been before. And then Moriarty returned to fulfill his dreadful promise.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft gets to know Sherlock's secret.

 

“You need to keep them save.” Sherlock demanded from his brother, just right after he was picked up from the morgue. “All of them, especially Greg.”

Mycroft stared at his brother with an amused smile. “I would have never guessed that you care for that detective inspector that much. I have never ever heard you say his first name.” The look that Sherlock gave him was enough. Suddenly it dawned Mycroft. “Is he?” But he didn’t finish the sentence. Sherlock just looked at him and nodded.

“But did he?” Again Mycroft didn’t finish the question. Sherlock just answered with a barely visible shake of his head.

“Have you ever asked him?” Mycroft inquired, still shocked by the topic of their talk. They had never talked about it. Sherlock had never told him about the name on his wrist. The topic was a taboo ever since that dreadful day when Mycroft failed to help his brother.

“No.” Sherlock answered. “And it doesn’t matter. And just to answer all other questions you have. I don’t know if he has my name on his wrist. I even don’t know for sure if his band is a broken one, but I think it is. He has it covered up all of the time. And you must admit that that fact in addition to how he cares about me since he first met me is a clear indicator. Balance of probability.”

Mycroft couldn’t help but stare at his brother. “But you could have asked?”

“Really?” Sherlock snorted. “Now you are not thinking rational. If he has my name on his wrist he should have been the one to ask me. He is the healer and I am the broken one. Or do you honestly believe that it could be the other way round. You have seen my mark. And you know the rules. It is not my place to ask, you know that would be inappropriate. And even if I disregard nearly every social rule, I will surely not force him to acknowledge me and urge him into the bond. If he indeed has my name on his wrist then it is obviously his decision not to take that step and I will respect that. I’d rather have him in my life the way he had been over the past few years then lose him.”

Sherlock looked at his brother waiting for an argument that would surly come, but Mycroft just nodded. What was he to say about that. Sherlock would be leaving England in the evening to dismantle Moriarty’s network and that was a dangerous task. No need to argue now, Mycroft thought.

“So, please, just take care of him, while I am away.” Sherlock said softly.

“Yes, of course. I will do everything I can.” Mycroft said.

Sherlock nodded.

“Does John know?” Mycroft asked.

Sherlock stared at his brother for a while. “No, he doesn’t know that I have a broken mark and thereby he also doesn’t know the name that is on my wrist. He asked once, but he respected my wish not to talk about it.”

Silence stretched between the two brothers before Mycroft finally changed the topic and started to talk about Sherlock’s mission.

 

It was only after Sherlock had left the country and Mycroft was sitting in his living room in front of the fireplace that the full impact of that exchange hit him. While he was gazing at Anthea who was reading a book on the chair opposite of him, he realized how lucky he had always been. He had met his soulmate in the hallways of the MI6 and made her his personal assistance. He had a whole soul mark and he had to admit that he never really understood what the broken mark meant for his brother. When they were both young, Mycroft noticed how people treated his brother, but he only rarely had tried to soothe his brother when he felt lost, lonely and unwanted. Instead he also had been cruel and he had teased him more than once in the past and had finally lost his brother’s trust when he didn’t protect him from their own grandfather. He had made so many mistakes over the years. He had tried to make up for them in the last few years and he always thought that Sherlock would find his soulmate and things would turn better. And thinking back as much as he had tried to help his brother it was Greg Lestrade that gave Sherlock the incentive to get clean and stay clean. And it was John Watson who became Sherlock’s first friend, someone to trust, loyal, patient and as it seems very respectful in regards of Sherlock’s privacy. And now, with the new knowledge, Mycroft felt a ping of pain and guilt. And he thought about Greg Lestrade and the thought filled him with hate. How could this man be so cruel not to take the step towards Sherlock? Yes, there were rumors that the bonding between a broken one and the healer was accompanied by pain, but it was usually the broken one who would suffer most of that pain, before things were about to turn better. So how could he deny Sherlock the chance to get better? And even more so when everybody knew that while the healer can live without ever bonding, the broken one could not. How could he do nothing? How could he deny Sherlock the chance to survive? Mycroft felt his breathing speeding up and saw Anthea glancing at him with worry. Mycroft took a deep breath. Thinking about all of this was useless. Sherlock was on a dangerous mission and he had promised to take care of all three of them, the three people that cared about Sherlock and that Sherlock cared about. And maybe the name on Greg’s wrist wasn’t even Sherlock. But there was no way to find that out. All his power was useless when it came to this. One thing Mycroft swore to himself. He would apologize to his brother for every time he made his brother’s life more difficult, for not protecting him back when he was a child.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock needs to make a decision.

Time was a strange thing. Being back was good. Sherlock had expected the anger from John, he also thought that he would get punched, well, maybe not three times in a row, but he let him anyway. What he didn’t expect was the hug from Lestrade. They had never hugged before. But it was strange in more than one sense. Even days after that hug Sherlock still tried to find out if Greg had felt the strange rush of electricity cursing through his body as well. It must be a sign of their link. On the other hand they had touched before with no such effects, so this was new. But still Sherlock felt that is was not his role to make the first step. He still was too afraid to be openly rejected. If after all those years Greg still wanted to be unbonded than Sherlock was willing to accept that with all its consequences.

Finding out that John found his soulmate in Mary was a shock. Sherlock had hoped for his life to continue in the same way as before his faked suicide and the fact that he had truly lost that life was haunting him for a long time. But in the end Sherlock was okay with it. It would have been ridiculous not to be happy when your best friend was happy and so Sherlock even helped to plan their wedding and delivered a surly memorable best man speech. Just when he had deduced Mary’s pregnancy and saw everybody dancing he felt a strange sense of being left out. So he left the wedding early and when he was back at home he felt truly lost. He realized that he would not get back what he had before the fall. He decided to devout himself completely to his work to spend the time he had left with as much excitement as possible. When Lady Smallwood came to his flat he thought that the case of Magnussen was the best thing that could have happened. Of course he could have faked the drug use, but in end it didn’t really make sense, so he really took those drugs. He hated the way everybody treated him afterwards but his relapse was quickly forgotten when he nearly got killed. Being shot by Mary was something which could have truly done without, but on the other hand he understood her in the strange need to keep certain things from John and the willingness to do everything to keep it that way.

Weeks after Sherlock left the hospital he felt still tired. Maybe that was the reason why he didn’t see the mess with Magnussen coming. How could he not see that coming? He was so stupid. Now he was waiting in a cell of a secret government base, waiting for his verdict. He was sure that there wouldn’t be a trial. Mycroft would do everything to prevent that from happening. No, they would come up with some kind of punishment without a trial, without the public ever getting to know what happened in Appledore. He was lost in thought when somebody opened the door to his cell. It was Mycroft and by the look on his face the verdict was not what he wanted to achieve.

“Don’t let me wait.” Sherlock said taking a deep breath.

“I couldn’t get you free. It didn’t matter that they all wanted to get rid of Magnussen.” Mycroft said and his voice broke a little, but there was also disdain in his voice.

“I didn’t expect that.” Sherlock said and he tried to smile. “So what will it be?”

“They offer you the choice. You can spent the rest of your life in a high security prison or you accept the suicide mission for the MI6.” Mycroft said.

“Well, death on a mission or death in prison. How poetic.” Sherlock said. “That is an easy choice. I take the mission.”

Mycroft couldn’t hide his feelings, Sherlock thought. The anguish in his brother face was so clearly visible.

“Sherlock, please, think about it. If you go to prison I might be able to negotiate your release in a couple of years.” Mycroft pleaded.

“A couple of years?” Sherlock snorted with a smile. “You think I have so long?”

He watched as his brother took in what he had just heard. Sherlock waited for Mycroft to argue, but he just looked at him and said that he was sorry. They were sitting side by side for a while neither of them talking.

When Mycroft had left Sherlock thought about the choice he had just made. He was broken in so many ways by now, no way to deny that. And Lestrade hadn’t made any try to bond with him, or even approach him with the question of it and he hadn’t met another Gregory. So he frankly couldn’t care less that he would be dead within six months. Maybe this was his destiny. He knew that if he wouldn’t die in Eastern Europe his life time was running down anyway. Broken souls who didn’t bond with their soulmate only rarely reached an age above forty, some didn’t even made it beyond thirty-five. Maybe it was better this way, dying on a mission, in what was hopefully a fast death, rather then slowly fading away. And even more important for Sherlock was the fact that he would die far away from those he cared about. The last thing he wanted was to be pitied. Mycroft acting all concerned and nice was already getting on his nerves and he couldn’t bear the thought how his parents, how John and his other friend would act.

He hasn’t told Mycroft or his parents or John, but he had seen a specialist just a week before Christmas. He was tired all the time and since he wasn’t sure if that was due to the bullet wound he contacted Doctor Rajendran, a world-renowned specialist in the field of soulmates. He asked him whether his tiredness was already the symptom of a broken one at the last stage of his life. Doctor Rajendran wasn’t sure, but he told him that his past, the many injuries and the drug use were not working in his favor. Only when cracks show in the mark he could be sure, but even then it still could take about year until the end. Sherlock saw the first crack appearing in his mark just a day after Christmas while he was in his cell waiting for other people making decisions about a future he didn’t have. For a moment he thought about telling Mycroft when he offered him the choice, but he didn’t. Sherlock knew that his brother was clever enough to draw his conclusion from their conversation.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets rescued by the Moriaty video, but he has to deal with a very angry John. Time to reveal his secret.

 

 

When Sherlock stepped on the plan he was sure it was his way to death. And he had truly made peace with his decision. He had asked to meet Greg once more, but he didn’t dare to tell him the truth about his mission. They have parted with Greg once more hugging him and wishing him good luck. Sherlock needed all his strength to keep his face bare of his real emotion and to fake a small smile. After the meeting he had asked Mycroft to deliver the news when his death would be confirmed. Sherlock wanted to tell John on the tarmac, but when he was looking into the hopeful eyes of his best friend he wasn’t able to say it. So he boarded the plane with more emotional baggage then he would have thought. Once the doors were closed and the plane was up in the air he could hardly suppress his tears. But his life didn’t stop making this turns. Moriarty reappeared and the plane turned around. He should have been grateful, for the new puzzle, for having more than those six months, but when he was back in 221b and finally left alone by everyone he just felt tired, so tired.

 

Two days after the plane had turned around an enraged John visited Sherlock at Baker Street. He stormed up the stairs and immediately started to yell at Sherlock

“How could you do that?”

“Do what?” Sherlock asked confused, not sure what he had done wrong now.

“Accept what was clearly a suicide mission?” John yelled again.

“John, I ..” But Sherlock couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know. You told me, that your brother estimated it would take six months, you said he was never wrong. But you forgot to mention the little detail that the mission would end with your death.”

“How did you find out?” Sherlock asked in a quiet voice.

“So it is true? Mary guessed it after I told her what we talked about on the tarmac.” John said still upset.

“Yes, it is true. And it was my choice. It was either that mission or prison. And don’t tell me I should have chosen prison.” Sherlock explained slightly agitated himself now.

“Yes, at least you would have lived.” John yelled again. “How can you throw away your life like that? There are people who care about you, who would miss you.”

“Better get used to it.” Sherlock whispered while turning around not to face John anymore.

“What was that?” John asked.

Now Sherlock snapped, turning around again, taking a step into John’s personal space. “I said, better get used to it, because it will happen anyway.”

“What? You think Moriarty will kill you, or what?” John asked.

“No, Moriarty is dead. The video was a fake. Some remainders of his network, as it seems.” Sherlock answered.

“I don’t understand.” John said confused.

Sherlock turned around again. He didn’t like the topic they talked about. And he wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to tell John everything. There were times in the past, when he was on the brink of telling him, especially after he was shot by Mary, but he didn’t want to be pitied, especially not from John. But above anything else he feared the rejection, feared that his best friend might be disgusted to find out that Sherlock had a broken mark and had kept it a secret for so long. So he had stopped himself every time he felt the urge to talk about it. But he knew that rather sooner or later he would have to tell him. He knew that the tiredness he had experienced over the last few weeks were already symptoms of the forthcoming end. The crack in his mark was the proof. So Sherlock came to the conclusion that he could as well tell it John right now. He turned around and slowly opened the clasp of the wristband that covered his mark. Then he stretched out his wrist for John to see. And as John examined his wrist, carefully touching the coloured mark, he could see how the realization sunk in as he observed John’s face.  When John moved his head to look up, Sherlock looked away. He didn’t want to see the disgust or the pity in John’s eyes.

“You never told me.” John whispered, his voice trembling.

“I saw no reason why.” Sherlock answered. “You would have rejected me like anyone else, pitied me. And that is something I never wanted and still don’t want.”

John looked up “I would have never rejected you. How could you think that?”

“Lifelong experience.” Sherlock said quietly and turned around. He walked up to the window.

John was shocked. For a moment he was speechless. “You are my best friend and your mark will never change that.”

Sherlock could feel the tears welling up. He bit his lower lip and stared out of the window. He didn’t dare to look around.

“Did you hear me? You are my best friend not matter what. God, I forgave you pretending to be dead for two years.” John said, but he got no response from the tall man. So he walked up to the man and turned him around “Sherlock, you can trust me. I don’t care about such things. I care about you.”

Sherlock looked down at the floor and just whispered. “Okay.”

John just nodded. “So you have never found your soulmate?”

“No. I never found him.” Sherlock said, thinking of Lestrade, but he didn’t want to share his assumption with John. He probably would be angry and certainly would storm out to confront the DI. And that was the last thing Sherlock wanted. He could still be wrong with his assumption and then Lestrade would know as well. No, better to keep that to himself.

“Do you have symptoms?” John asked. “Is that the reason why you choose that mission?”

“No.” Sherlock lied, hoping John hadn’t seen the crack in the mark or didn’t know its meaning. He knew if he said the truth the doctor in John wouldn’t stop meddling until the end and that would be even worse than the pity. “No, I don’t have symptoms, but you know that it is only a question of time. And besides, do you really think I would survive imprisonment longer than six months without going insane?”

John chuckled a bit. “Yeah, I guess that big brain of yours would drive you crazy and you would drive anybody around you crazy.”

They both smiled before John turned serious again. “You still might find him?”

“Yes, but I’ve learned better not to put my hope in that. Balance of probability.” Sherlock said with a wisp of sadness in his voice.

“Will you tell me the name? I mean if I meet someone with that name, I could …” John said unable to accept what Sherlock had accepted a long time ago.

“You know the rules.” Sherlock answered.

“Rules? You usually don’t care about rules.”

Sherlock said nothing. He didn’t want to justify his decision.

“Please.” John said with desperation leaking through his voice.

“John, I’ve made my decision how I will handle this a long time ago and I will not change it. So just drop it. And please, I need you to promise me one thing. You will not tell anybody, not even Mary. Promise.” Sherlock said sternly.

John looked him in the eyes for what felt like a long time, so that Sherlock already started to regret telling him. But then John nodded. “I promise. But you need to promise me something as well. When you feel the first symptoms you will tell me. I will help you in any way I can, so please don’t keep me in the dark.”

Sherlock nodded. He was already keeping John in the dark, but he would tell him once the symptoms became more obvious.

“So the Moriarty thing is a fake?” John asked and Sherlock was happy for the change of subject. He put on his wristband again and started to tell John about the case.

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock takes risks and Greg gets confused.

Life went on. The case of the fake Moriarty took Sherlock nearly five month to solve. Well, he solved the case much quicker, but it took nearly five months to track down the small group that caused all the havoc. They were really good at hiding, Sherlock had to admit, but in the end they were stupid like most criminals. He finally caught the last ones of the group and was able to prevent another terror attack that would have killed half of the royal family. In that light it was easy for Mycroft to negotiate Sherlock’s definite return to Baker Street, the return to his life as consulting detective.

Everything back to normal, at least Sherlock pretended that everything was back to normal. The truth was that he felt the symptoms becoming stronger. A second crack showed up in his mark. He was more tired than ever before in his life. It was a different kind of tiredness, one that didn’t really go away, no matter how long Sherlock slept. But he was very good at hiding it from his friends. It was easier now that he lived alone and even Mrs. Hudson didn’t seem to realize the changing sleeping patterns. Sherlock was even sure that Mycroft hasn’t noticed it so far. With John he wasn’t so sure at first, but when the little Miss Watson arrived John was so busy and when he came over it was mostly because Sherlock asked him to join him on a case. And when he appeared tired during a case, John had no suspicion that the cause might be something different then Sherlock’s usual refusal to sleep during a case.

So everything was back to normal, a different normal, but at least Sherlock had his cases. He was back solving crimes for Lestrade. And the cases were good, because they distracted him from what would come in the near future. He hated to think about it, how fast it would accelerate into a state where he would not be able to hide the symptoms any longer.  And how long would it take until the end? Those thoughts crossed his mind far too often for his liking. So he tried to distract himself with every case he could get. And in the back of his mind there was this idea that he would die chasing a criminal, maybe getting shot or hit by a car while pursuing a criminal on the streets of London, a fast death while doing what he loved. His wish nearly came true.

 

* * *

 

 

Greg was following Sherlock into the park when he spurted after the criminal. Why did this stupid git always have to run after the criminals without backup? John and Greg were about fifty feet away when Sherlock caught up with the suspect. And then everything happened very fast. Just for a second he saw the reflection of the long knife under the light of the lamppost. Then Sherlock crumpled to the ground, crying out in pain. And while John sprinted up to Sherlock, Greg was frozen on the spot. He was stunned, not by what he saw, but by what he felt. He felt a deep pain in about the area of his left upper body, exactly where the knife must have pierced Sherlock and just as it happened he grasped his ribs as if he needed to make sure he wasn’t bleeding. He was paralyzed for a moment. He heard the agitated voices of John who by now was kneeling beside Sherlock. When he saw Donovan ran after the criminal Greg could move again, but he was still too confused to act. He noticed how Sherlock was barely able to breathe, how John pressed his hand on the wound. But Greg felt like an outsider, watching the scene without being part of it. Even when the ambulance arrived Greg stood frozen on the side. Only as Sherlock was loaded into an ambulance he snapped out of his torpor and asked the paramedics to which hospital they would take him.

He slowly made his way back to his car. Once he reached it he just sat down and tried to process what just happened. Why did he feel the pain? And he suddenly remembered the other times, when he felt a pain that he couldn’t explain, that had no physical source. Could it be that all these other times were connected to Sherlock as well. He remembered the night Sherlock was shot in Magnussen’s penthouse and nearly died. He felt such a pain that for a moment he thought that he had a heart attack, but the pain was lower, closer to the liver and it was gone as fast as it came, only to return about a week later. A week later, Greg thought connecting events he hadn’t thought about before. A week later Sherlock had collapsed after his daring escape from the hospital. And then there were the strange faint feelings of pain and desperation he felt shortly before Sherlock returned from the dead. And what about this electrifying feeling when he had hugged Sherlock after his return? Could this all be connected? Greg pulled up the sleeve of his jacked and removed the leather band that he used to conceal his broken soulmark. He turned on the light in the car to see it. The colours were a mixture of grey, a light blue and a light green with some golden flecks and dark brown lines. But the name he could see was still the same. “William” written in a flourishing handwriting. Not “Sherlock”. Greg sighed, turned off the light inside the car, put the band back on again and finally started the car to drive to the hospital. He had still no idea what had happened but he knew he needed to see that Sherlock was okay.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft confronts Greg.

 

Greg was sitting in the waiting room of the hospital. Even though Sherlock had been out of surgery and placed in a room he didn’t dare to go in yet. And John was with Sherlock anyway. So Greg was waiting and still trying to sort his thoughts when Mycroft entered the room.

“Gregory.” Mycroft said in a cool and dismissive tone. “What are you still doing here? Sherlock is okay. He will have to stay here for a week or two.”

Greg just looked Mycroft in the eyes and there was anger, so clearly visible in a face that usually was bare of any emotion.

“You are angry with me? Why?” Greg asked. “You know that nobody can stop your brother if he wants to pursue a criminal.”

Mycroft just glared at Greg. “You really think this is about this stupid incident?” Mycroft hissed. He shouldn’t do that, Mycroft thought. He had promised Sherlock not to intervene, but he wasn’t stupid. He had found out about the meeting with the specialist. And he had noticed the symptoms his brother was able to hide from nearly everybody else. It had started and the injury would surly accelerate it. And he was standing in front of the man who could stop it. He wasn’t sure about this before today, but now he was. He had seen the CCTV material from the incident in the park. The moment Sherlock was stabbed Lestrade grasped his ribs at exactly the position where the knife had entered.

“I don’t understand.” Greg said, now even more confused.

“You don’t understand.” Mycroft yelled. “Then tell me what happened to you when Sherlock got stabbed?” Mycroft snarled.

In that moment Greg realized that Mycroft must know something. “But it isn’t his name.” Greg said resigned.

“It isn’t?” Mycroft asked. Now he was confused. “But you felt it, right? And your mark is a broken one, or isn’t it?”

Greg just nodded. “I wish it was his name, but it isn’t. I always felt connected to him, right from the start, but…”

Mycroft just tried to process what he had just heard. It didn’t make sense, unless. And then Mycroft had an epiphany. “It is William, the name on your wrist, right?”

Greg was gobsmacked, jumping up from his chair. “How do you know? I never told anyone the name.”

Mycroft nodded and said. “William Sherlock Scott Holmes.”

“Oh god.” Greg said, slumping back into the chair. “And he has my name on his wrist?”

“Yes, he has. He had told me before he went on his mission to destroy Moriarty’s network, told me to keep you safe. Made me promise that I will not intervene.”

“But why has he never asked me?” Greg asked.

“He said it wasn’t his place to ask. He wanted to stick to the rules.” Mycroft snorted. “And I think even more so he thought you had made the decision not to bring it up and he wanted to respect that.”

“But I had no idea. I didn’t know that Sherlock wasn’t his first name.” Greg said, still overwhelmed by the new knowledge, and even more by the fact that Sherlock knew it all along and thought Greg had rejected him. He felt his world crumbling around him. Why did he never asked, never looked it up. It would have been easy to find out Sherlock’s full name, but he had never thought about that.

“He hasn’t used his first name since he was a sixteen years old. My grandfather was named William and they had not a very good relationship to put it mildly. My grandfather despised him for being different and above all for having a broken mark. In his eyes Sherlock was a disgrace for the family. When he died Sherlock instantly dropped the name William and used his second name instead. And I did the same, so that our parents would accept it. Mycroft isn’t my first name either.” Mycroft explained. “I guess as my soulmate had Mycroft on her wrist Sherlock never thought about the possibility that his soulmate might carry the name he hated so much and that is connected to so many bad memories.”

Greg closed his eyes for a moment. Just a few steps away from this room from was his soulmate, lying in a hospital bed, badly injured, a man who had jumped of a roof and dismantled a vast criminal network to keep him safe while simultaneously believing that he rejected him, didn’t want a bond between them. The opposite was true, he felt connected right from the beginning and there had been so many moments when he had wished for the name on his wrist to be ‘Sherlock’. And now it was, well in a certain way. He jumped up. “I need to see him, now.” Greg said and was already walking away.

“Greg, please be gentle with him.” Mycroft said. Greg just turned his head and nodded.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Sherlock finally find out the truth.

Sherlock was in a hazy kind of state when he woke up again. He sensed somebody by his side and it took a few moments to realize that it was no longer John, but that Greg was sitting by his side, watching him rather intently.

“You are an idiot.” Greg said calmly.

“Oh please, don’t. John had already lectured me quite vividly about my reckless behavior and so on. I don’t need another lecture right now.” Sherlock sighed; really not ready to listen to more of that.

“I don’t mean your stupid behavior in the park. We need to talk about that as well, but that is not what I mean.”

Sherlock looked at him obviously confused, so Greg continued.

“Why have you never told me that my name is on your wrist?” Greg asked in a soft voice.

Sherlock eyes went wide before he turned his head. He stared at the ceiling, trying to calm his breathing and avoiding face Greg.

“Who told you? It could have only been my brother. He had not right to tell you.” Sherlock hissed. How could Mycroft do that? Bringing him into this situation, especially now, that he was unable to get out of this situation, too weak to leave the bed and walk away.

“Yes, he did. And I am glad he did.” Greg said. “You know what happened in the park, when that guy stabbed you. I felt the pain, surly not as much as you yourself, but nevertheless. And I really couldn’t understand. But then I remembered that I felt pain the night you were shot, I thought I had a heart attack. And then there were very faint pains every now and then while you were gone for those two years. And I just couldn’t understand.”

Sherlock listened to all those explanation. “What is there not to understand? You know how it works.” Sherlock asked angrily, still staring at the ceiling.

“I didn’t understand, because the name on my wrist isn’t Sherlock.” Greg said.

Now Sherlock turned his head again, looking Greg in the eyes. Could that be? He was wrong all those years. But there was this connection, Greg had just told him. And then he watched Greg as he removed the leather band around his wrist and just held it up for Sherlock to see. Sherlock would not be able to read the name if I wasn’t his, but he could see the letters, letters in his handwriting, his neat handwriting he had as a young boy. The name was precise and clear. He couldn’t help but tremble, his breathing became erratic.

“And if it wasn’t for your brother I still would not have known that your first name is William. That is why you are an idiot.” Greg said with a smile.

Sherlock didn’t see that smile as he still couldn’t help but stare at his name on Greg’s wrist and at the colours and patterns that matched his. It was just less dark brown, more blue and green than his mark, and of course less missing parts as Greg was the healer. With his right hand he reached out, the urge to touch it was so strong, but he stopped himself. He wasn’t sure if it was okay. Touching the mark would start the bonding process and Sherlock wasn’t sure if Greg really wanted that.

“It is okay.” Greg said softly. “But can I see yours first, please.”

Of course, Sherlock thought and hastily with trembling fingers removed the broad silver band that covered his wrist and held up his bare wrist. He saw the trembling of his hand, but he couldn’t suppress it. He hated it, but this was the moment he had wished for as well as feared for so long.

Greg carefully took Sherlock’s hand and pulled it closer. He was gobsmacked. He knew his name was on there, as Mycroft has told him, but it was so different to actually see it. “Gregory” written in clear block letters, unquestionable his handwriting, the way it was when he really tried to write neat and nice. And the colours matched his, just more black and dark brown, but still the same combination of patterns and colours. He smiled. At first he didn’t dare to touch Sherlock’s wrist, but he felt a strong urge to do so. So he slowly reached out and touched the mark with his fingertips. The next moment Sherlock cried out in pain, the heart monitor went crazy and Greg could see Sherlock curled to the side. He seemed barley able to breathe. Doctors and nurses stormed into the room pushing Greg aside and just a little bit later out of the room.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are never easy.

 

Mycroft who had waited in the hallway looked alarmed. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. I just touched his mark and he cried out in pain.” Greg answered, standing paralyzed in the middle of the hallway.

Mycroft stormed into Sherlock’s room while Greg moved to the opposite wall, slowly sinking down to the floor. He was in shock. He definitely didn’t want to hurt Sherlock. He saw another doctor ran past him into the room. Shouldn’t he make Sherlock better once they bond? Is that not what a broken soulmark meant? He was waiting in the hallway for what felt like hours. His thought orbited around his and Sherlock’s past, about the strong feelings he had about Sherlock right from the beginning. And he couldn’t help but envision what might have happened if he had discovered all this back then. His thoughts were interrupted when Mycroft and the doctor who had rushed in last suddenly stood in front of him. Greg jumped up. “Is he okay?”

“Yes, he is okay.” The doctor said. “Let us find a place to talk.”

Mycroft, Greg and the doctor went into one of the doctor’s offices at the end of the hallway.

 “Okay. Well, I am Doctor Rajendran, I am a specialist in that field. You two have broken soul marks and that means one of you …” The doctor started.

“Yes, I know, one of us is the healer, which is me, and the other one is the broken one, which is him, I know that.” Greg interrupts the doctor impatiently.

“Yes, and that means when you two bond, the broken one will relive every pain he has ever experienced from that day backwards. You will also feel his pain, but that should be just a faint perception. Today the moment when you touched his mark he just felt the pain of being stabbed again and due to the pain and his movements he ripped out the chest tube.” The doctor explained.

“But he is okay?” Greg asked again. “I didn’t want to hurt him.”

“He is okay. They fixed the chest tube and raised the pain medication.” Mycroft answered.

“Yes. The bonding procedure has to wait. While a healthy young person is able to endure the bonding process Sherlock in his current state is surly not. The wound needs to heal first.” The doctor made a pause before he continued. “And even then it might be too much for him. It is quite unusual for broken souls to bond so late and he had not only experienced emotional pain like most broken ones but according to his medical records a rather high number of physical injuries as well as drug abuse. I would strongly advise doing the bonding in hospital or at least in attendance of a doctor and if only to administer pain medication if necessary to make it easier for him.”

Greg was shocked by what he had just heard. He hadn’t thought about that. Of course he knew about the procedure, has read about it when he was young. “You mean the bonding could kill him?”

“That is hard to predict.” Doctor Rajendran answered.

Greg looked to Mycroft. “Then maybe we shouldn’t bond at all.” Greg whispered. “I don’t want to hurt him or kill him.”

“That is a decision only you two can make. For you not much will change. For him though.” The doctor didn’t finish the sentence.

Yes, Greg new the end of this sentence. A broken one who will not bond will die young. They get tired of life, they say. Some committed suicide once the symptoms started to show. Other just withdrew from life and faded away very fast, sleeping most of the days and nights. In the final stage the tiredness was accompanied by pain. And Greg just realized that Sherlock might be on the brink of that development as he had never seen him so tired. He even had caught him sleeping several times he spontaneously showed up at Bake Street.

“He already has symptoms, right?” Greg asked.

“Yes, he has. He came to me about six month ago. And now his mark has already two cracks.” Doctor Rajendran explained. Greg could see the brink of tears in Mycroft’s eyes before the man turned around and took a deep breath.

“Can I see him?” Greg asked.

“Sure. As I already said, we had to raise the pain medication. He should be okay now. Just don’t touch his mark. And he also shouldn’t touch your mark. But we already explained that to him.” The doctor said and went away.

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Misunderstandings and insecurities.

Slowly Greg made his way back into Sherlock’s room. When he entered it, he could see the man lying very still in his bed, eyes closed, but as soon as he sensed Greg’s presence he opened his eyes.

“I am okay.” Sherlock said and tried to smile but Greg could see that he was still in some pain.

“I know, the doctor and Mycroft came to me and explained everything.” Greg said while sitting down beside Sherlock’s bed again. “We need to wait until you are up and about again. I know patience is not your strongest fortitude, but this we cannot rush.”

“You still want to?” Sherlock whispered.

“Yes, of course, if you want to. Do you want to?” Greg asked, confused by Sherlock’s question.

Sherlock bit his lower lip. That was the question. Did he? “Yes, I just, I wasn’t sure you want to, you can live without me, you …”

Greg was stunned by what he heard. Did Sherlock really think that he would let him die? He felt anger at this assumption. He jumped up. “You think I would reject you and let you die? How can you even think that? What is wrong with you?” Greg yelled and he missed how Sherlock flinched at those words as Greg paced up and down in front of the bed.

“It is just a logical assumption.” Sherlock whispered, not daring to look up.

“It is a logical assumption. You think I would let you die and that that is a logical assumption.” Greg fumed.

Sherlock didn’t know what to say.

“I need some air.” Greg said and without taking a look at Sherlock he walked to the door.

Sherlock just closed his eyes, trying to force back the tears that were about to come. He had messed this up. He had made Greg angry and now he would leave. Sherlock tried to breathe normal but his breathing fastened and pain seared through his ribcage.

But Greg hasn’t left. He stood in the open door and turned around to look at Sherlock. The shoulders of the young man were slumped down, his eyes closed and his breathing was fast and shallow. Greg realized instantly what he had just done. He had rejected Sherlock, had done what Sherlock had expected what he would do. He closed the door and slowly walked up to Sherlock’s bed.

Sherlock could feel a tear escaping his closed eyes. He didn’t want to cry, but he couldn’t stop it. How could he mess this up? How could he drive Greg away? Suddenly he felt the mattress dipping beside him and a thump touching his wet cheek. He opened his eyes to see Greg looking at him with a sad expression.

“I am sorry. I didn’t want to …” Greg started. Sherlock closed his eyes again. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to make it worse. So he just waited. And then Greg hugged him, careful not to hurt him but tight enough to be comforting. “I will never ever reject you. I was so shocked that you could think something like that. Sorry, I overreacted.” Greg whispered in his ears.

They stayed like that for a while. When Greg released Sherlock he took his hand. “Whatever made you think that I would not be happy to have you as my soulmate, forget it, delete it. Yes, I can live without you, but I’d rather not. It wouldn’t be the same without you and it is surely not what I want.”

Sherlock just nodded and they both sat in silence for a while. “I’ve been alone all my life. Most people hate me, even when they don’t know about the broken mark. And if they find out they either reject me or pity me.” He didn’t want to sound so pathetic, but he couldn’t help it.

Greg tried to process what he had just heard. He realized he had no idea. He had always assumed that the arrogant behavior was Sherlock showing off, reminding people that he was more intelligent. But suddenly Greg realized that it might only be a form of self-defense, a shield to protect himself from people’s prejudice.

“But you have friends. John, ...” Greg said, but Sherlock stopped him.

“Yes, but before John, I never ever had someone. And even with John I haven’t dared to tell him about my mark until a couple of months ago.”

“He didn’t know? You thought he would reject you?” Greg asked.

“Yes, of course.” Sherlock uttered. “Haven’t you been rejected?”

“No, not really. But you’ve seen my mark, the missing parts are really small. And it is a healing mark.” Greg explained and he felt a bit guilty as he realized that Sherlock’s experience was so different. “But John didn’t reject you. And you have Molly and Mrs. Hudson and your family.”

Sherlock snorted. “My family.”

“Not good?”

Sherlock just nodded. “Most of the times, no not good. Mycroft was a rubbish big brother.” He felt Greg’s hand on his shoulder.

They sat in silence once more. Sherlock looked Greg in the eyes and whispered. “I am afraid.”

Greg nodded. “Yes, there is a risk, but the alternative isn’t better. And the doctor told you, that you could have pain medication for the bonding procedure, or hasn’t he?”

“Yes, and that is not it. I know I can deal with pain. I have experience with pain.” That sentence made Greg shudder, but Sherlock just continued. “I have been living unbonded for so long. I am afraid what will change.” Sherlock said quietly. He had intended to keep those fears for himself, but somehow he couldn’t stop himself from telling Greg.

“Yeah, I understand that. Well, it will be different, for both of us, I guess. God, I have been living unbonded longer then you. But it is supposed to be better, not only for you, for both of us. And if we don’t bond, you will have not much time until you …” Greg couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Yes, I know. The doctor told you, hasn’t he?” Sherlock said in a sad voice.

“Yes and I am not as unobservant as you think. I’ve noticed weeks ago that you are always tired.” Greg told him. Sherlock just nodded.

“So we will do it?” Greg asked “Or do you need time to think about? I will not force you. It is your choice.”

“Thank you.” Sherlock whispered.

“It is okay. I will leave you now. You need your rest. I will be back tomorrow.” With that Greg was about to leave the room. Sherlock had already made up his mind. Of course he would bond. In the end he didn’t have a choice and he also had waited so long for it to happen. It should make things better. And if not for anything else Sherlock was curious enough to find out how that would feel.

“Greg.” Sherlock said and the other man turned around. “I really very much want to bond with you.” Sherlock tried to smile.

Greg moved up his bed once more. “Ditto.” He said with a smile and he kissed Sherlock on the forehead. “Now rest a bit. You need to heal. If you will be better tomorrow you will get the well deserved lecture about your reckless behavior.”

After Greg had finally left, Sherlock went to his mind palace, once more reorganizing all the information he had about that man. Things will change.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greg learns some shocking things from Sherlock's past.

When Greg left the hospital a black car waited for him. He got in and as expected found Mycroft waiting for him.

“Everything okay?” Mycroft asked.

“Don’t you monitor your brother’s room?” Greg asked mockingly.

“Contrary to his belief I don’t.” Mycroft answered.

Greg nodded. “He is okay.” After a moment of silence he added. “He thought I would reject him.”

Mycroft said nothing, just pressed his lips together.

“He said most people rejected him.”

Mycroft nodded with a sigh.

“Including his family.” Greg said, hoping the other man would see the statement as a question.

“I am afraid so. Not our parents, not openly at least. Our father was very shocked when the mark didn’t develop. Our mother mostly worried.”

“And your grandfather, the one called William?”

Greg didn’t miss the strange face Mycroft made, something between disgust and sadness.

“Our grandfather thought of Sherlock as a disgrace for our family and he didn’t miss an opportunity to tell him that. He treated him very badly.”

“Physical abuse?” Greg asked, hoping that the answer would be no.

“Yes.” Mycroft nodded. “But he was clever, he always made sure to be careful, to keep it in a way that nobody would notice. And if Sherlock had any bruises or welts he always had a plausible explanation. Sherlock was a very active and curious child and he never told anybody. My parents never realized what happened.”

“But you did?” Greg inquired.

“At the beginning. No. Towards me my grandfather was a perfect caring person, encouraging, helpful. I would have never ever suspected anything. Yes, I noticed that he treated us differently, but I just thought he was annoyed by Sherlock’s never ending questions and his hyperactive energy. It was only when Sherlock was ten and I was seventeen. My parents were abroad. I wasn’t supposed to be at home either as I attended some special summer courses in Cambridge, but they ended earlier due to the illness of the teacher. So I came home a week earlier. I heard my grandfather was yelling at Sherlock in the study.” Mycroft paused for a moment his eyes closed. “And then I made the biggest mistake of my life, one Sherlock never forgave me, right so. I never forgave myself.” He took a deep breath. “I didn’t step in. I didn’t stop my grandfather.”

“What did he do?” Greg asked. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.

“He made Sherlock kneel in front of the desk, hitting his hands with a cane.” Mycroft said.

“And you watched?” Greg asked shocked.

“I asked him what Sherlock had done to deserve that kind of punishment. I thought Sherlock must have done something terrible to make my grandfather so angry. But he just answered that a broken one is a disgrace that Sherlock need to be shown his place in society that he needs to get used to pain.”

Greg shuddered at the thought of a ten year old Sherlock being treated like that.

“I asked my grandfather to stop, said something about old times and equal rights. But he didn’t stop. He wanted me to stay and watch. He started hitting Sherlock again. Sherlock didn’t even flinch or made a single sound. I should have stepped in, but I didn’t. I just watched.” Mycroft sighed.

Silence stretched between the two men. Mycroft had his eyes on the floor.

“When we were both finally dismissed, I wanted to tend his injuries. I brought him some ice, but he just looked at me and said that there was not need to help him now and that he has enough experience to know who to deal with this. He never let me close to him again. He never trusted me again. It was only after the incident at the pool with Moriarty that he came to me and asked for help.”

“Didn’t you tell your parents?” Greg asked.

“I wanted to tell them, but Sherlock asked me not to. And since I failed him so fundamentally before, I agreed.”

“So he was abused for years?” Greg asked, shocked by what he just heard.

“I guess so. We never talked about it. He never answered when I asked. My grandfather died when Sherlock was sixteen. He instantly dropped the name William.”

After another long pause Greg sighed. “Well, that explains a lot.”

“He was rejected by too many people. Our parents, well mostly our mother tried to comfort him, but in the end they didn’t understand. My mother bought the silver band he wears. Well, not that one he wears now. The first one was torn apart by some of his fellow pupils at the boarding school.  I can’t estimate how much he was bullied at school, but it must have been a lot as he asked our parents to change school, but as my grandfather was paying for the school he wasn’t allowed to go to a different school.” Mycroft explained.

“So in short. He was bullied at school, abused by his own grandfather and rejected all his life.” Greg summarized.

Mycroft just nodded while Greg held his head down and ruffled through his short hair.

“Well, that will change.” Greg said with determination.

“It changed already with you and John in his life.” Mycroft said with a small smile.

 

* * *

 

The next day Greg had to work but he definitely wanted to visit Sherlock again. It was late evening when he entered the hospital but fortunately Mycroft had made sure that he wasn’t bound to the visiting hours. When he entered Sherlock’s room he noticed that the lights were already turned down. Only a dim light behind the bed gave the room a soft yellow glow. Sherlock was still attached to a heart monitor and an IV line but they had removed the chest tube so he was able to move a little bit more. He was sleeping when Greg entered the room and so he carefully sat down on a chair beside the bed. And he equally careful placed his hand on Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock’s mark was covered with the silver band again to make sure that no accidental touches could occur. Greg was thankful for that. He really didn’t want to cause his soulmate more pain. Without thinking about it Greg started to draw small circles with his thumb on the back of Sherlock’s hand. He didn’t notice that Sherlock woke up.

“What are you doing here?” Sherlock asked with a sleepy voice.

“Watching you sleep.” Greg answered with a smile.

“I am awake.” Sherlock said plainly.

“Yeah, I noticed. Change of plan then. Watching you awake.” Greg said, still smiling.

Sherlock watched him with an intense gaze.

“What has he told you?” Sherlock asked after awhile.

“How did you deduce that? Well, never mind. Yes, Mycroft told me something, but he only answered my questions. About your grandfather.”

Sherlock crunched his face.

“I wanted to know why you didn’t use the name William.”

Sherlock nodded. “You could have asked me directly.”

“Would you have told me?” Greg asked curiously

Sherlock hesitated. “Yes.” After a pause he added. “Maybe.” Sherlock really didn’t want to talk about it, but if Greg would ask he would answer. But Greg didn’t ask. He just continued to softly stroke the back of Sherlock’s hand, until he noticed that Sherlock watched him do it.

“Sorry.” Greg stuttered.

“No, it is okay.” Sherlock replied hastily, wondering at the same time why he felt this urge to feel Greg, to be close to him. He usually hated to be touched, but with Greg it was different. This whole soulmate thing was very confusing.

“Why didn’t you want Mycroft to tell your parents about how your grandfather treated you?” Greg’s question stopped Sherlock’s musing.

Sherlock sighed and was thinking about how to answer that question.

“If you don’t want to you don’t have to talk about it.” Greg added hastily.

“No. it is fine. My parents kind of knew that my grandfather punished me physically for things I did wrong. With that my parents, well at least my father, didn’t really disagree. He was raised that way too. And I wasn’t an easy child.” Sherlock said with a shrug.

“I cannot image that you could have done anything that would justify that kind of treatment. And if I got Mycroft right, your grandfather hit you not as a punishment for something you did but rather for who you are.” Greg said barely hiding his anger.

Sherlock couldn’t help but smile about Greg’s consternation.

“I guess so. The point is that I didn’t want to find out if my parents agreed with him on that.”

Greg had to process what he had just heard. “You weren’t sure?”

“Not really. My guess was 50:50, at least for my father, maybe 60:40 for my mother. So I made a decision. I’d rather lived with the imagination that they disagreed than with the possibility that they might agree.”

Greg was shocked. He thought that after he had heard the story from Mycroft that it couldn’t get worse, but he was just proven wrong. He remembered his own parents and his carefree childhood. His parents were always utterly supportive. To imagine that one wasn’t sure about the love of your own parents made him shudder.

Sherlock seemed to sense Greg’s thought. “My mother was always supportive. And her mother, my granny, she always loved me.” Sherlock smiled at the memory of his only true solace in his childhood. “But my father was different. I was never sure how he felt about me being …” Sherlock didn’t finish the sentence.

“I am sorry.” Greg said.

“Not your fault.” Sherlock answered a bit confused.

“I know, but one can be sorry despite of that.” Greg explained.

Sherlock thought about that before he fell asleep again.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock learns that people care about him.

 

Over the next week Sherlock had to stay at the hospital and Greg was a daily visitor. Thankfully Greg didn’t want to talk about the bonding or why Sherlock hasn’t talked to him before. Instead they talked about cases and Sherlock got his well deserved telling-off for his reckless behavior in the park. And of course he got other visitors. John was a frequent visitor along with Mary and their daughter. They were extremely happy for him. Mrs. Hudson felt the urge to deliver baked goods of all sorts. He had told her about his mark and about Greg during one of those visits. And she surprised him when she told him with a wave of her hand that she had known it for years, well suspected it. Her nonchalant way made him love her even more than he already did. Molly on the other hand was quite shocked when he told her. For a moment he thought that she would walk away, but she didn’t. She cared for him and was only very cross because he hadn’t told her earlier. And even his brother showed up every now and then and to their own surprise they were able to talk to each other like civilized people. At the end of that week Sherlock realized that the people he cared about most also cared about him. It filled his heart with a kind of warmth he hadn’t known.

 

* * *

 

 

When Sherlock was finally allowed to leave the hospital he expected John to be there, along with a car from Mycroft. Instead it was Greg who picked him up. On the ride back to Baker Street Sherlock exchanged messages with John. When they went inside Mrs. Hudson made quite a fuss, brought them tea and served them freshly baked mince pies, Sherlock’s favorites. It took about an hour until she left them alone.

“Are you tired? Do you want to rest?” Greg asked.

“You don’t have to mother me. You don’t have to be here.” Sherlock said. “Thanks for picking me up from the hospital, but you don’t need to feel responsible for me.”

“But I do.” Greg answered.

Sherlock just looked at him. Greg felt himself under the same kind of scrutinizing gaze that Sherlock usually applied to murder victims and potential suspects.

“Why?” Sherlock asked.

“Why?” Greg replied.

“Yes, why do you care that much?” Sherlock asked again.

“You are a genius, but you cannot figure out why I care about you?” Greg said with a little amusement.

“I never could.” Sherlock said with a sigh. “After you saved me in that alley I couldn’t figure out why you came back to get my statement. It wasn’t your division. You were in that alley by accident and you could have sent a constable to take my statement.”

“I felt the need to do it. I felt and still feel the need to take care of you.” Greg explained. “The only difference is that now I know the reason.”

Sherlock just nodded and bit his lower lip. He knew Greg cared about him and he cared about Greg as well, but this whole thing made him feel uneasy. He definitely wanted the bond with Greg. He wanted to live and over the years he had grown really fond of the DI. He had always been hoping that Greg might be the one and had felt rejected over the years. And now that things were clear and they were only a few days away from bonding the situation made him nervous and insecure. The bond between a broken one and a healer were supposed to be the strongest bonds to exist. Some of them once bonded could talk to each other in their minds, even over far distances. Even before bonded they were suppose to feel the other one, at least when something extreme happened or when they were close to each other, just like Greg felt his pain when he was stabbed. Some said that the broken one will be always dependent on the healing one. Other said the broken one will be the stronger part of the bond. In the end the stories about the bond between two broken marks and their relationships afterwards were full of myths and hearsay. It made Sherlock feel uneasy nevertheless.

Greg watched him for a while. “Don’t you think that I feel the same about this situation, after all those years? I don’t know what will happen. And I don’t know how we will change, how what we had so far will change. But I think we will manage, somehow. We will see what happens and we will deal with whatever feelings or needs we will develop.”

They didn’t talk for a while.

“I am not good at this. Dealing with emotions. Dealing with people.” Sherlock said. “I’ve never had a relationship. I really don’t know if I can do this and I …” Sherlock started to stumble over his words. He really was not good at this.

“Shhh, stop it. As I said. We will deal with things as they come up. And we will make all decisions together.” Greg tried to calm Sherlock down.

“Okay.” Sherlock said. He was tired again. The injury had worsened the symptoms.

“You are tired.”Greg said with a worried voice. “You should rest.”

“You know that that is actually kind of scary, the fact that you can see that.” Sherlock chuckled.

“I am not blind.” Greg answered with a smile. “You should sleep a bit.”

“Yes, I will. John wants to visit with Mary and their daughter later on.” Sherlock said and stood up. He then went to the small glass bowl that stood on the desk. He looked for his second key and when he found it he handed it to Greg without a word.

“What is that?” Greg asked.

“Oh, good to see that you are still as unobservant as usual.” Sherlock said with a chuckle. “It is a key for the flat. Just seems appropriate.”

“Oh, thank you.”  Greg answered. He didn’t expect that.

Sherlock smiled and after Greg had left he went to his bedroom. He wanted once more reorganize Greg’s rooms in his mind palace. By now he occupied a whole floor. But as soon as he lay down on his bed he fell asleep.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bonding.

 

In the end it took three weeks until John attested that Sherlock was well enough to do the bonding. There was a heated discussion whether to go back to the hospital or not. But in the end there was no way to convince Sherlock to go back to the hospital for the bonding. He hated hospitals and he wanted to do it at home. Fortunately Greg consented to do the procedure at 221b. The second big discussion revolved around the question whether Sherlock should have pain medication right from the start. In the end John won this battle. The bonding itself was a simple thing. They would just need to bring their marks together and the rest would just happen. For most people it was a rather short process of a few minutes up to an hour, but for Sherlock and Greg due to their age and their broken marks it was expected that it would take much longer.

“Are you ready?” Greg asked while he sat down beside Sherlock on his bed. They both wore comfortable pajama bottoms and t-shirts. John had already started the infusion he would use to administer the pain medication.

“Yes.” Sherlock answered, staring at the opposite wall rather than looking Greg in the eyes.

“You shouldn’t disconnect ones you made contact, no matter how bad it will be.” John said.

“We know, John. We were there when we all talked to Doctor Rajendran.” Sherlock said impatiently.

John just nodded. “I will be here, adjusting the pain medication if necessary.”

“John, could you leave us alone. I will call if you are needed.” Greg said, sensing that this whole situation wasn’t easy for Sherlock who hated to be seen as weak. John wanted to say something but Greg gave him a look that made it clear that this was not up for discussion. When John had left the room Greg placed his hands on Sherlock’s shoulder and turned him around.

“Please, look at me.” Greg said softly. “I know you are scared. I am scared as well, but we will just do it and get through with it.”

Sherlock nodded and grabbed Greg’s left hand. The moment their marks met a sharp pain shot through Sherlock’s left side, just as if someone would stab him again. He curled himself up and bit his lip in order to suppress a scream, but he did not let go of Greg’s hand. And Greg called for John, before maneuvering them both onto the bed so that they lay down beside each other. Greg got very close and started to stroke through Sherlock’s hair and whispered soothing words in his ear.

The next hours were full of pain. The pain medication was barely able to take the edge of. Sherlock relived the pain of being shot, the pain of the torture in Serbia, the pain of the many injuries he acquired during his two year absence and before. And he even went through nearly all symptoms of the drug withdrawal again as he was shivering and sweating while every muscle in his body ached. Sherlock barely noticed when John stormed in every now and again to either increase the pain medication or to cool his face with a wet cloth. But the physical symptoms weren’t the worst as Sherlock felt incredible lonely, deeply depressed, just lost. He knew Greg was there, holding him. He heard him whispering, but he seemed so far away. And John was there, but that didn’t change what he felt either. He was about to let go of Greg’s hand, but Greg just didn’t let him.

 

It was more painful to watch even though Greg also felt some pain himself. But at the same time he was flooded with so many positive feelings and memories of his childhood and other wonderful moments of his life. At first he thought he shouldn’t feel that good while Sherlock was suffering so much, but then he realized that those positive emotions would help him not to let go of Sherlock’s hand and to continue to press his mark against the one of his soulmate. So he stayed close and tried his best to soothe Sherlock with words and gentle touches while realizing how much bad must have happened to Sherlock that he had to suffer this much now. After what felt like a whole day that in fact was only a few hours Sherlock finally stilled. The trembling stopped and his face was no longer crunched in pain. Still Greg kept their fingers intertwined. Only when he noticed that his own feelings were kind of normal again and Sherlock’s breathing started to even out Greg relaxed. When Sherlock had obviously fallen asleep Greg dared to let go. He stayed with Sherlock a little bit longer before he got up and went to the living room.

“He is sleeping.” Greg said to John before he noticed that Mycroft sat on Sherlock’s chair. “How long have you been here?”

“He’s been here right from the beginning.” John answered the question. “I make you a tea. Mrs. Hudson made some stew if you want some.”

Greg nodded and watched Mycroft as he stood up to walk to the bedroom just to take a look before he turned around to sit down on the chair again with a sigh escaping his lips.

“Can I ask you something?” Greg inquired.

Mycroft just nodded.

“What has happened to him when he was away?” Greg asked. “During the bonding he was suppose to relive situation in reverse order and from what I saw and from what I felt, some terrible things must have happened while he was away.”

Mycroft nodded. “He had some risky situations. He was hurt a couple of times, but nothing life threatening. But at the end he was captured by the Serbian part of Moriarty’s network. It was the last part he wanted to bring down, but they caught him when he broke into their stronghold.”

Now Greg and John were both staring at Mycroft.

“It took us a week to find out where he was.” Mycroft continued.

“What did they do to him?” John asked.

“I don’t know for sure, but when I got into the interrogation cell he was chained up, arms stretched out, in a position where he was unable to relax. They used sleep deprivation, that I know for sure. And he was beaten very badly. Some open wounds on the back, broken ribs. My doctors found also indications for electrocution, but since Sherlock refused to talk about what happened with anyone, I can’t say anything for sure.”

Greg and John stared at Mycroft in shock.

“How long was that before he came back to London?” John asked.

“A few days. He didn’t want to stay in hospital any longer.” Mycroft answered.

“Oh god and I attacked him when we first met.” John slumped down on his chair.

The kettle clicked and Greg moved into the kitchen. He made two mugs of tea and moved back to the bedroom.  Sherlock seemed still asleep so Greg put both mugs on the bedside table and sat beside Sherlock who instantly moved closer while not waking up. Greg smiled and gently stroked through Sherlock dark curls. Everything would be fine. He would not allow anybody to hurt Sherlock again.

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things don't proceed as expected.

 

The flat was quite. Sherlock could only hear hushed whispers. He was so tired, so much worse than before. Wasn’t it supposed to be better by now? He was still in bed, Greg by his side holding him in his arms. It felt good, but also very strange. He wasn’t used to have another body so close to him, but he felt the urge to be close to Greg. He was nearly asleep again when he heard another voice in the kitchen. They had called the doctor, obviously. This wasn’t surly the way things were suppose to be like after the bonding was completed. He pretended to be asleep as Greg carefully entangled himself and walked into the kitchen. Fortunately he didn’t close the door completely so Sherlock could listen to them talk.

“How is he doing?” He could hear Mycroft ask.

“Sleeping again.” Greg answered. He sounded tired, Sherlock deduced from the voice.

“Did he do anything besides sleeping? Did he eat something?” The doctor asked.

“No, I could just make him drink something this morning. He doesn’t want to eat anything.” John answered, clearly exhausted and worried.

“It should have been better by now. Why is it getting worse?” Mycroft asked with an accusatory tone in his voice.

“These things are hardly predictable. In the vast majority of cases the broken one gets better even if the bond is formed that late. But there have also been a few cases were the bonding accelerated the symptoms and …” The doctor didn’t finish the sentence.

“But we need to do something.” Mycroft nearly yelled, but he was immediately shushed by John. They obviously didn’t want Sherlock to wake up and listen to the conversation. As if he didn’t know what was going on.

“I am sorry, there is nothing to do, then to wait and see how it develops.” The doctor said in a quiet voice.

“And if it doesn’t get better?” Greg asked.

But before the doctor could answer John asked. “Shouldn’t we bring him to a hospital?”

The doctor took a deep breath before he answered. “If the bonding accelerated the symptoms then there is nothing we can do to stop it. A hospital couldn’t do anything. If he is in pain you can administer the necessary medication here. He will just sleep more and more until ...”

“How long?” Mycroft asked, his voice sounded defeated and hopeless.

“A couple of days, maybe a week.” The doctor answered. Then silence spread out.

It wasn’t like the thought hadn’t crossed Sherlock’s mind as well, that the bonding was too late, that he would die anyway. But it was strange nevertheless to hear it even though he wasn’t supposed to hear it. A few days, maybe a week. It was a strange thought, to know that his time was that limited. But Sherlock had not time to further think about it as he could hear steps coming towards his room, unmistakably Mycroft. He thought for a moment to pretend to be asleep, but in the end he knew that he couldn’t fool his brother. So he just closed his eyes and waited for Mycroft to say something. That didn’t happen. Instead he felt the mattress dip beside him and a hand stroking through his hair. Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at his brother.

“It is okay.” Sherlock said with a small smile.

“You heard us?” Mycroft asked.

“Yes. And it is okay.” Sherlock answered.

“It is not.” Mycroft answered. “Not at all.” Sherlock heard how the voice of his brother broke.

There was nothing more to say. Mycroft slipped out of his shoes and took of his jacket before taking the place previously occupied by Greg. Sherlock didn’t say anything, just curled himself a bit closer around his brother. His brother hadn’t hold him since he was a small child, but it felt oddly soothing. Just seconds before he truly fell asleep he heard his brother whisper. “I am sorry, Sherlock, sorry for every time I wasn’t there for you.” Sherlock wanted to reply but he didn’t know what to say. A few moments later he fell asleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next time Sherlock woke up Greg was by his side again, holding him close while reading a book.

“Hey, awake?” Greg asked.

“You don’t need to stay here.” Sherlock said without looking up.

“But I want to. I will not leave you.” Greg said. He was still surprised that Sherlock could not understand that he would not go away. He got no response. He put the book away and slid down and moved closer to Sherlock. He sensed that Sherlock wanted to turn around so that he didn’t have to face Greg.

“Please, don’t.” Greg said and so Sherlock stayed the way he was. “You still don’t get it. So I say it again. I will stay here with you. I will not leave.” Greg said softly while stroking through Sherlock’s hair. “I care about you and I would only leave if you want me to.” Greg paused for a moment. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No.” Sherlock whispered. “I am so tired. I just want it to end.” He sighed and closed his eyes.

Greg said nothing, just moved even closer and enveloped Sherlock in a tight hug. And Sherlock couldn’t help but to reciprocate. He curled close around Greg and felt the other man’s heartbeat and breathing which was strangely comforting. At least he wouldn’t die alone as it seems. With that thought he fell asleep again.

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new beginning.

 

The next days past without much of a difference. Sherlock was in a haze. Everybody around him tried to make sure that he wasn’t alone even when he was sleeping most of the time. It was funny that how he who always avoided physical contact to other humans was comforted by the fact that every time he woke up somebody was close, holding him, making sure he was comfortable. It was mostly Greg who held him close, but also his brother and John seemed to be there all day as well. Sherlock made clear that he didn’t want to see anybody else. He didn’t want Molly or Mrs. Hudson to see him this way. Of course John tried more than once to make him eat something, but Sherlock just didn’t feel like it. Except for some tea he didn’t feel the need to take anything in. He was just tired and after the first day the expected pain set in, creeping through every bone, so that John started to give him pain medication through the IV line again. Sherlock knew that he would die and it he accepted that fact. There was no way of fighting the inevitable.

* * *

 

 

On the fifth day, it must have been in the early morning, judging by the light that crept through the curtains into the bedroom Sherlock woke up feeling strangely different. The tiredness was gone like it had never been there before. He saw that he had accidentally pulled out the IV line, but that didn’t matter as the pain was gone as well. But that wasn’t the only strange thing he noticed. It was quite, not only in the flat, but in his head. He felt strangely calm and content. His brain wasn’t buzzing and edgy like it usually would be when he was awake and well. And he was well. He was very well. But if his brain wasn’t on the edge would it still work as usual. Sherlock looked at Greg who was quietly sleeping beside him. Yes, he could deduce quite some things about his soulmate but that wasn’t really a challenge. So he got up, very careful, not to wake up Greg. He carefully placed the loose IV line on nightstand and tiptoed into the living room. He smiled as he recognized his brother sleeping in a rather awkward position on his leather chair, snoring a bit. John was lying on the sofa, one arm crammed behind his head, the other arm hanging limp down beside him, the hand touching the floor.  Sherlock tiptoed to the window. It was still very early but some people were already on their way to work. After deducing half a dozen people that passed by Sherlock was satisfied that his brain was still working as usual, even if it was unusual calm and content. It was strange, but also kind of nice. Now he had to decide whether to wake up his brother, his best friend and his soulmate and if so how to do it. What a strange kind of list, he thought. His sight was caught by his violin case on his desk. He smiled. Carefully he took the instrument from the case and without a further thought he began to play the first melody his brain came up with. And even though he had is eyes closed while he played he could sense that Mycroft and John have woken up and just a few moments later he felt that Greg was closer as well. It was strange how he suddenly could sense Greg’s presence. He didn’t turn around and just kept playing. Then he heard the slow steps of Mrs. Hudson coming up the stairs. When he heard her opening the door, he finally stopped playing, opened his eyes and turned around.

“I am fine. Different, but good.” He said addressing the four people who looked at him as if he was a ghost. He smiled. “And I am pretty hungry. How about some breakfast? But first I need a shower.” Sherlock put away his violin and walked up to Greg who stood thunderstruck in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. Sherlock stopped beside him and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. He felt the urgent need to touch his soulmate’s mark. So he grasped Greg’s wrist and stroked his thumb over the part where his name was. He felt a tingle beneath his thumb and when he looked down, he saw it. The name on the wrist was no longer “William”, it had changed to “Sherlock”. He couldn’t help but smile and when he looked up he saw Greg with an expression of pure awe.

“How did you do that?” Greg asked.

“I have no idea.” Sherlock smiled. “But I like it.”

Greg gaped at him with shock. “You know that you haven’t said aloud.”

“I didn’t? Hmm.” That was interesting. He needed to investigate that further but now he was hungry and definitely longed for a hot shower. “Gonna try that later again. Now I really need a shower.” He said while pretending to sniff at his t-shirt. “And some breakfast would be marvelous. And judging by your state you all could do with something to eat and some coffee.” With that he went to the bathroom. While he stood under the hot shower he thought about the future. He had a future. And it was going to be an interesting one.

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life goes on.

Everyone was happy for Sherlock to be alive and well. The breakfast was delicious and the atmosphere relaxed. After Mycroft and John went home Greg and Sherlock discussed how to proceed. It could have been an awkward discussion, but it wasn’t. Not all bonded soulmates entered into a relationship after the bonding. And Greg and Sherlock agreed that they both wanted to resume their normal life and that they have been friends before and that they will continue to be friends. They both agreed that being soulmates shouldn’t change how they felt for each other or how they worked together. But they both wanted to wait a bit before telling Greg’s co-workers at the Yard.

 

* * *

 

 

And so life resumed as it was before. In the week after Sherlock’s resurrection from the nearly dead, as John put it so eloquently, Sherlock had one boring private case and one case with Greg, but that was barely a five and was solved in less than a day. In-between John was nagging Sherlock to eat more as he had lost quite some weight before the bonding while in hospital and even more in the days after the bonding. Even if Sherlock hated John’s meddling he had to agree and he only resisted every now and then in order to annoy John.

The next case was not with Greg but with DI Dimmock and even though it was interesting Sherlock felt restless the longer the case took. He felt edgy and in a very strange way tense. As soon as the murder was arrested Sherlock found himself on the way back to Baker Street. When he entered the flat he hoped for some peace. He made himself some tea, sat down in front of the fireplace. It didn’t help to get rid of that strange feeling. He grabbed his violin und started to play his favorites Philip Glass sonata, but the music somehow not only failed in diminishing his restlessness it seemed to further foster it. He stopped, standing in the middle of the room. He closed his eyes, entered his mind palace and started searching for a solution. His mind dragged him to the floor that led to the many rooms Greg occupied by now. And Sherlock instantly knew it. His feelings were connected to his soulmate. He carefully entered one of Greg’s room and began to flock through his memories. And then he knew it. He needed Greg and he needed him close, as close as possible. Back to reality he hastily put the violin in its case, grabbed his coat and his scarf and ran out of the door.

It took him only ten minutes to get to Greg’s flat. It was late in the evening and standing in front of the door he thought about whether to pick the lock or to ring the bell. He had already picked the door downstairs, but something stopped him from doing the same with the door of the flat. He felt ridiculous. He had never in the past craved the contact to another human being, quite the opposite he hated being touched. But it had felt good being touched by Greg, being held close to him, feeling the other man’s heartbeat when he was nearly dying after the bonding. And the idea that Greg would hold him once more when he entered the flat was an oddly soothing thought. But what if not, what if Greg felt differently. Before being able to think this through his body made the decision for him as he couldn’t remember that he had consciously decided to ring the bell. But he did and only a moment later Greg opened the door, dressed in a tattered pajama and smiling at him.

“Let me guess.” He said. “You don’t feel right.”

Sherlock just nodded while stepping into the flat.

“Giddy, tense, restless?” Greg asked.

Sherlock nodded again.

“Me too.” Greg said with a nod and another small smile.

Both man stood in the middle of the living room.

“So what now?” Greg asked.

“I don’t know.” Sherlock answered with a shrug. “I just know, I think, I.” Sherlock took a deep breath. This shouldn’t be that difficult. “I need to be close to you. Just like we’ve been after the bonding.”

“Yeah, sounds good.” Greg said, stretching out his hand. Sherlock hesitated a moment but took it. Instantly he felt a low-vibrating energy flowing between them that only lasted for a second or two. It was displaced by a feeling of calm and contentment. Both men looked up from their intertwined hands at the same moment and couldn’t help but smile.

“Quite honestly, I am knackered and Dimmock told me about his case. So I guess you probably have been awake for the past three days at least. “ With that Greg tugged Sherlock into the direction of his bedroom. Greg released his hand, searched for a pajama bottom and a t-shirt in the drawers. He wordlessly handed it to Sherlock who took them and started to undress. When he shed his shirt he heard Greg gasping behind his back, a reminder that the scars on his back were still clearly visible and obviously disgusting. Sherlock bit his lip and hastily wanted to grab the t-shirt from the cabinet, but Greg stopped him. Greg’s hand gently stroked over the deepest scar on his left shoulder blade which made Sherlock shiver.

“Don’t.” Sherlock whispered, but he didn’t move. “Those are signs of my weakness, of the mistakes I made.”  Greg just sighed, but didn’t stop. His fingers found the other scars and traced each one of them with a feathery touch.

“You know when you where away I felt it. I felt that somebody hurt you. I mean I didn’t know it at the time, but I realized it when I discovered that we were soulmates. It was very faint, about a year after you were gone, and then ongoing for a week only shortly before you returned.” Greg stopped, his hand still on Sherlock’s back. “And I felt it through the bonding. Your pain. Your desperation. You had given up the hope to survive.” Greg paused as he felt Sherlock breathing hitch. “I asked your brother what had happened to you.” Sherlock took a deep breath that let Greg hesitate to continue, but as Sherlock didn’t say anything he just continued. “He said you were captured, that you were tortured and that he didn’t know more as you didn’t talk about it.” There was another stretch of silence before Greg stepped even closer and wrapped his arms around the younger man and placed a soft kiss on the skin of Sherlock’s neck. He felt how it sends a shiver through the younger man’s body. “I just want you to know that if you want to talk about it, I will listen. And that I am happy that you hadn’t given up and that you are here today.”

Sherlock said nothing. He just felt. The warmth of the other body pressed to his. The feeling of belonging that he had never felt before and that now surged through his body and mind. His hands found Greg’s and he squeezed then a little as he was unable to find words to a reply to Greg’s words.

“Let’s get some sleep.” Greg announced after a while. He released Sherlock from his embrace and climbed into the bed. Sherlock took a last look at the t-shirt on the cabinet, but decided against it. He climbed into Greg’s bed and settled down close to the other man just liked he had done in the days after the bonding. His hand found Greg’s and as their soulmarks touched the feeling of happiness and contentment flowed through his body and he drifted off into sleep without a further thought.

* * *

 

 

It became a kind of routine. Whoever felt the need first came over to meet the other one. Greg spent a lot of nights with Sherlock at Baker Street, but Sherlock spent nearly an equally amount of nights at Greg’s flat. Greg had given him a key after that first night and over the next weeks cloths and other personal items of each man found its way into the other’s one flat. But they didn’t move together. They talked about it one night, but agreed very fast that they’d rather kept their respective own flats.

On those days when Sherlock was deeply involved in a case and refused to sleep Greg found himself sleeping in Sherlock’s bed, curled around the younger man who was usually sitting upright with his computer on the lap. It worked even though more than once Greg was woken by a loud exclamation, followed by Sherlock dragging him out of the bed to accompany him when he wanted to follow a lead. It wasn’t Greg’s favorite way of spending the night but he had to admit to himself that he rather followed Sherlock through the streets of London then stay alone in the flat. Everything was fine as long as they were close to each other. He still was sometimes startled when Sherlock was able to communicate with him without speaking. And over the weeks after the bonding this ability seemed to be developing as Sherlock was one day able to reach Greg through his mind even though Greg was at his office while Sherlock was at home. It should have been scary, but Greg liked it and he mostly envied Sherlock for this ability. He accepted that Sherlock was the stronger one in this bond, but it was okay, more than okay.

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They can't keep it a secret.

Sherlock was in his kitchen experimenting with some skin samples he got from Molly when he felt that something was wrong. First it was just a vague gut feeling, but that was followed by a stabbing pain close to his heart. It was so strong that he doubled over nearly smashing his equipment. It took him a while until he was able to breathe normal again. He immediately tried to contact Greg through his mind, but he couldn’t feel his presence like he usually could. He rushed to his phone and dialed the number of his brother.

“Something happened to Greg.” He said breathlessly not waiting for his brother to say something first. “Something bad.”

“Okay, wait a moment.” Mycroft said and Sherlock could he him shouting orders to Anthea. Then there was an unbearable long silence. Sherlock tried again to contact Greg, but still didn’t get a response.

“He was shot. He is on the way to St. Mary’s.” Mycroft said. “I will arrange everything.”

Sherlock didn’t response; just grabbed his coat and run out of his flat.

 

* * *

 

 

“I am here to see my colleague, DI Greg Lestrade. He was shot.” Sally announced while showing her warrant card to the nurse behind the desk.

“Good morning.” The nurse replied. “Let me take a look. Ah yes, he is in room 101. His soulmate is with him.”

“His soulmate?” Sally asked confused. “He doesn’t have a soulmate. His soulmate died long time ago, I think.”

“Well, he has a registered soulmate who is with him right now.” The nurse replied before turning around to do something else and thereby declaring that this conversation was over.

Sally walked down the hall. She didn’t knock just entered the room. And she gaped with surprise to see Sherlock sitting beside a sleeping Lestrade, holding hands with her boss.

“What are you doing here, freak?” Sally sneered. “How could you even be here before me? And how could you sneak yourself in as his soulmate?”

Sherlock just glared back.

“First of all, try to be less loud. Greg needs his rest and I don’t want you to wake him up.” He hissed. “And to answer your questions, even though I am not quite sure if you deserve answers at all. But whatever. I felt that he was shot and that should give you the answer to the other question as well.”

Sally just looked more confused until she saw that both man had their marked wrists naked, pressed close to each other, the matching colours and shapes clearly visible.

“You and him?” Sally asked.

“Yes.” Sherlock answered. “And now you can leave. He will not be awake for several hours unless you wake him up.”

Sally stumbled backwards out of the room.

“I am sorry.” Sherlock whispered to the sleeping man. “That it probably not the way you wanted to let them know.”

 

* * *

 

 

Several hours later Greg woke up, dazed and confused, a curly black head resting on his arm.  He smiled and tried to remove his arm which already tingled unpleasantly.

“Mmmhh.” Sherlock mumbled, not really awake yet. But he suddenly realized that Greg must be awake and nearly jumped up. “Sorry, sorry, did I hurt you?”

“No, everything is okay.” Greg rasped.

Sherlock grabbed the cup with ice chips and gave Greg two of them. Greg nodded grateful as he felt the cold water soothing his throat.

“Don’t do something like that again.” Sherlock said sternly.

“Waking you up?” Greg asked with a smile trying not to swallow one of the ice chips.

“Getting shot.” Sherlock answered. “That didn’t feel very good. I thought I was done with that kind of pain.”

“You felt it?” Greg asked surprised.

“Obviously.” Sherlock said. “Nearly pushed my microscope off the table.”

Greg just nodded. He shouldn’t be surprised anymore but he was. The bond between them was strong and Sherlock was able to sense so much concerning him that it sometimes felt a bit strange. “It wasn’t on purpose. And you are the one to talk. Usually you get hurt with your reckless decisions to run after criminals without backup.”

Sherlock just looked at Greg without responding. Of course Greg was right, but he didn’t want to admit that, so he decided to drop the topic.

“And by the way, our secret is out.” Sherlock said with a quiet voice, avoiding to look Greg in the eyes. They still haven’t told anybody at the Yard and Sherlock was unsure how Greg would react.

“Okay.” Greg answered.

“Sally stormed in and the nurse must have told her that I am your soulmate and then she saw our marks and …” Sherlock hastily explained.

“Hey, stop.” Greg interrupted him. “Everything is okay. I wanted to tell them anyway and now I don’t have to make an awkward speech.” Greg smiled in a way that let Sherlock relax instantly.

“You are tired. You should try to sleep. John always insists on me sleeping when I got hurt.” Sherlock said and gave Greg a chaste kiss on his temple.

“Will you be here, when I wake-up?” Greg asked already half asleep.

“Of course.” Sherlock answered while intertwining their fingers again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will probably be the last, but since I am not happy with it so far it might take a bit longer til the next update.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another step.

 

Sherlock was smiling at him, waiting in front of the hospital, propped against a dark green Land Rover. Greg carefully got out of the wheel chair he was forced to use.

“What is that? A cab would have been sufficient.” Greg said with a smile while watching Sherlock pack away his bag into the car.

“Not really.” Sherlock said and as he noticed Greg’s questioning look he added. “Surprise, don’t ask.”

Greg got into the car. When Sherlock had seated himself in the driving seat he couldn’t help himself and asked. “Are you even allowed to drive?”

“Want to see my driving license, police officer?” Sherlock smirked.

“Yes.” Greg answered.

“Well, unfortunately, for one thing that is not your division and for another thing you are not on duty.” Sherlock said and started the car.

They drove about two hours, south, leaving London behind. Every time Greg asked Sherlock where their journey would end or why they were leaving London he was told to wait and see. The drive ended in a small down close to the coast line. It was an old cottage placed in a beautiful garden.

“A vacation in Sussex?” Greg asked as he couldn’t really believe that Sherlock could spent time in the countryside without getting bored out of his mind.

“Yes.” Sherlock said with a beaming smile. “Let’s go in.”

The cottage was beautiful from the inside as well. It was a strange mixture of old and some newer pieces of furniture, quite similar to Sherlock’s flat in Baker Street and definitely not the way a typical holiday cottage would be furnished. Sherlock seemed to sense Greg’s confusion.

“It is not a rented cottage.” He said while leading Greg to the door that led to the big garden in the back of the house. Sherlock waited with his explanation until they have both settled down on a bench. “It was my granny’s house. The mother of my mother.”

“Oh, yes you told me about her.” Greg interrupted.

“Yes. I spend the best time of my childhood here.” Sherlock smiled at those memories. “It was let for a long time, but the last tenant moved out a two month ago and Mycroft asked me if I wanted to use it myself or let it again.” He made a small pause. “I thought it would be nice to have a place to retreat to, for both of us.”

Greg smiled. “I wouldn’t have thought you to be a person who needs a retreat in the countryside.”

“Well, I am getting older.” Sherlock replied and as Greg snorted as a response he added. “You are getting older as well, if you stop getting yourself shot at.”

“Says the man who runs after criminals without backup, got shot, stabbed and beaten up more times than I can remember.” Greg retorted.

“Well, I guess we both should try to be a little more careful in the future as I plan to retire here with you when we are both too old to chase criminals.” Sherlock said, watching Greg for a reaction.

“Retire? Here?” Greg asked.

“Yes.” Sherlock said, again watching Greg intensely.

“Sounds good.” Greg smiled and gave Sherlock a fleeting kiss on the cheek.

  

* * *

Later that evening while they were sitting on the sofa in front of the small fire place Sherlock moved closer to Greg.

“Greg, I wanted to ask you something.” He started, feeling strangely nervous.

“Beside the question if we are going to spent our retirement here?” Greg asked jokingly.

“Yes.” Sherlock replied with a serious voice that led Greg to turn his head to face his soulmate.

“Okay. Ask.”

Sherlock took a deep breath. He wanted to make this step for quite a while, but then Greg got shot. He was sure that Greg wanted the same, he had deduced that. But he felt completely insecure nevertheless.

“Can I kiss you?” He nearly whispered.

“Kiss me? We kiss all the time.” Greg answered amused. “You never asked before.” And after a few seconds and after looking at Sherlock Greg realized what the younger man was really asking. “Oh? Oh!” 

Sherlock cursed himself inwardly. “I am sorry. I, we don’t have to, I thought you would want it too.” He stuttered.

“No, don’t be sorry.” Greg hastily interrupted Sherlock. “Yes, I want. Please.” He wanted to add something but the next moment he felt Sherlock’s lips on his, soft and gentle. They kissed like they have never done it before. It didn’t last long, but long enough to produce a deep feeling of want in both men.

“I wanted that for quite a while, but I didn’t want to push you into a direction you might not want to pursue with me.” Greg smiled, one hand carding through Sherlock’s curls.

Sherlock chuckled. “You know that you didn’t say that aloud.”

“I didn’t?” Greg asked, not quite sure it really happened.

“Yes. I think we need to resume so that we will be even.” Sherlock said with a mischievous grin.

The next moment the lanky man was on Greg’s lap, his hands cupping his face, their lips meeting again. The kiss started gentle but developed into something much more fervent and fierce. Greg’s hands found their way under Sherlock’s shirt and got a hum of approval as response.

“Bed?” Greg thought, not breaking the kiss. He was just curious if he could really reach Sherlock without speaking.

Sherlock broke the kiss and smiled. “Good idea.” He whispered before he got up. He held out his hand and carefully pulled Greg up from the sofa. Another passionate kiss sealed their agreement to pursue this step in their relationship before Sherlock led Greg to the small bedroom of the cottage.

 

* * *

 

Greg woke up with the first sun beams finding their ways through the window. He watched the man beside him for a while, still not quite able to comprehend what had happened last night. Sherlock was lying on his stomach, face turned away, his curls wild and disheveled, the sunlight exposing the reddish reflections in the otherwise dark hair. And Greg couldn’t help himself so he started stroking the soft hair only to be greeted by a low rumbling noise from his soulmate’s throat.

Sherlock turned his head so that he could face Greg. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” Greg said and added a soft kiss to this statement. “Everything okay?”

“Never have been better.” Sherlock smiled. “But hopefully you don’t want to get up yet.”

“Any better ideas?” Greg asked impishly.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, before he smiled and answered. “A lot.”

Sherlock propped himself up on his elbow and kissed Greg, slowly, but with the clear intention to continue what they have started last night. An while Greg felt Sherlock’s lips moving over his body he thought that he indeed could very well imagine retirement here with Sherlock by his side.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End.   
> This is it, the final chapter of this story. I thought about writing something more explizit at the end, but I am not really good at that, so I decided against it. If anybody wants to do it, feel free to add it.
> 
> Thanks for reading it, for the kudos and for those lovely comments.


End file.
